


we can never go home (we won't be turned around)

by Evandar



Series: Tolkien Drabbles [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Drabble Sequence, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: Whenever he guides a new group of Sindar to Mithlond, Gildor turns his own path to the shore for a single reason: to seek out Maglor.





	we can never go home (we won't be turned around)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



> I loved your prompt of "take a sad song and make it better" for these two. I hope you like the result!
> 
> The title comes from the song 'Burn the Fleet' by Thrice, which can be heard [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O87M5nvdRpE).

There are signs of habitation scattered along the shoreline. Gildor has grown accustomed to seeking them out, to following trails of ocean-scavenged curios to wherever Maglor has chosen to wander. The once-great prince has grown fey and fair in his grief, and Gildor’s resentment toward him has faded in the long years since the burning of ships and the bitter chill of Helcaraxë. When first they reunited after the loss of the Silmarils, it had been an accident. Now, each time he guides a new group of Sindar to Mithlond, he turns his own path to the shore. To Maglor.

Maglor has never asked for his company; has never entreated him to stay by his side. The trinkets he leaves behind him as he wends his way through exile are clue enough that Gildor’s presence is not unwanted. He never asks for news of those he once knew, but listens all the same as Gildor tells him of Galadriel and her kingdoms as they rise and fall; of Elrond and Celebrían. As he speaks of Elrond’s children, Maglor’s black-burned hands twist painful knots of hair and shells into elaborate webs – gifts to hang above Elven cribs to steal away nightmares.

Gildor’s journeys slow over time. As more of the Eldar leave for fair shores beyond the sea, he has fewer people to guide. He lingers instead, with Maglor, listening to the songs that spill heartbreak from his lips. He listens as rage and ruin pass with time, and while the ache of loss will never leave, he hears as hope re-enters Maglor’s song. When Maglor sings of joy, he uses no words – terrified they will be snatched away as all other things have. He hums instead, and in lilting notes and odd syllables, Gildor finds his growing love is returned.

Maglor is lovelier now than he had ever been in Valinor, or in the blood-soaked campaigns of the War of the Jewels. Gildor braids shells and seaweed into his salt-stiffened hair, and steals kisses from chapped lips. Burnt hands clutch at his tunics, tug them from his shoulders, and he weds the last son of Fëanor with only the stars and sea to witness them. While no promises will ever be made between them – Maglor will never speak an oath again – there is a pledge in every breath they share. They will linger together when all other Eldar have fled.


End file.
